


mea culpa, mea culpa (mea maxima culpa)

by trashsenal



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Catholic Character, Catholic Guilt, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, I'm Sorry, catholic angst, mature themes, plz put me in the trash where i belong, tw abortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5593300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashsenal/pseuds/trashsenal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire is a Catholic in remission who hasn’t been to mass since her confirmation, but she’d be even more damned if she didn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt for what she’s about to do.  Written for a Daredevil kink meme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mea culpa, mea culpa (mea maxima culpa)

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt: 
> 
> Matt and Claire sleep together, once, before their conversation in Episode 11. She gets pregnant, and due to a tough upbringing/an unstable personal life/the fact that she can't raise a kid with a vigilante let alone on her own/because now is not a good time/any number of very good personal reasons, she decides to terminate the pregnancy. 
> 
> She tells Matt first, though, because she feels like she owes him that much. 
> 
> I want Matt working through his intense religious guilt re: abortion, Claire trying to stay strong in the face of whatever confusing and intense but problematic feelings she has for Matt, Matt fighting against the irrepressible urge to try to convince her not to go through with it because ultimately he cares very deeply for her and wants what's best for her. 
> 
> I want emotional angst and Tough Conversations. 
> 
> And maybe, if we're lucky, a happy ending in which nobody's completely secure in their decision but making the best of it anyway.
> 
> \--
> 
> I need more angst Clairedevil in my life. Also, I'm a sucker for Catholic guilt. Srry.

Claire remembers sitting in this same pew every Sunday of her childhood. It was near the front of the church, right next to the baptismal pew, and in plain view of the somber, bleeding crucifix hanging above the altar. That crucifix was the only reason she didn’t fall asleep during mass as a child; the Christ’s eyes were so vigilant, sweeping every corner of the church, and he’d _surely_ notice the little girl slumping against her mother’s shoulder as the priest gave a really long, really boring homily in Spanish about something-or-other she never really paid attention to.

She’d always thought the Christ’s eyes were scary and sharp.

Now, though, she realizes they’re just sad.

The church is empty save for the line at the confession booth. There’s no children falling asleep to watch over. Everything is silent, still, and it should put her at peace, but it just fills her with more dread; the silence is predatory, menacing, and waiting for her to crack beneath its smothering weight. She glances back towards the confession booth. The line is significantly shorter now, and she begins wondering how long she’s been here. Perhaps she should get in line. Yeah. She definitely needs to go to confession because it’s been about fifteen years since her last time, and she’s done some really shitty things during those fifteen years. Yeah.

But she’s not stupid. She knows it doesn’t work like that, that she can’t be absolved of a sin that hasn’t been committed yet. She’d have to go to the clinic, go through with the procedure, get it all over with, and then come back, and—

No, she can’t even bring herself to think about it under the gaze of the crucifix. She sighs and leans back against the pew. It’s made of light wood, but it doesn’t hurt her back. The cushion beneath her is worn, but a good kind of worn that reminds her of simple times.

Well, of _simpler_ times. Her childhood wasn’t exactly full of good memories what with a deadbeat, abusive father and a mother who barely spoke English. Despite this, Soledad Temple continued to be the pious, good Catholic woman she’d always been, and made sure to raise her daughters the same way. Claire snorts at the thought. Yeah, good Catholic women _definitely_ consider getting abortions the moment they find out they’re pregnant. Definitely. She was just _gushing_ with virtue.

She can’t bring herself to tell her mother because she, being the devout Hispanic Catholic she is, would probably want her to keep the baby. Or disown her if she went along with it. Well, first she’d probably have a heart attack about the pre-marital sex, but then she’d guilt her with some Catholic thing, and Claire knows she wouldn’t have the heart to refuse her. For that reason, she considers keeping the whole thing to herself, never telling a soul about it. It’s better this way, with no one knowing.

She lifts her eyes to the crucifix again. Were his eyes so sad because he sees all the sin? Because he sees the hearts of church-goers laid bare, their ambitions and motives in view, as they bow their heads in prayer? Perhaps he already knows what she’s going to do, perhaps he knows why she’s going against church doctrine and everything she’d been taught as a good Catholic woman. Part of her knows it’s wrong. Part of her _knows_ she’s technically ending a life, and part of her kind of in love with the idea of motherhood, but she can’t. Not when she’s got her entire life ahead of her. Not when the father of her child runs the risk of becoming a martyr every night.

The notion that maybe He’s already aware gives her a bit of relief, but she still thinks maybe God knows a bit too much. Slowly, she rises out of the pew, genuflects towards the altar as she crosses herself, and tries to ignore the Christ’s pleading eyes on her as she exits the church.

* * *

 

It’s half past midnight when Matt stumbles into her apartment bloodied and bruised.

He hasn’t been by in a couple of weeks, but Claire keeps her living room window unlocked just in case. She supposes he’s either become more conscientious of the nature of the injuries he sustains, or he’s found some other girl to give him stitches (she really, _really_ hopes it isn’t the latter, but they were never a _thing,_ anyways, and he’s free to roam despite how much it’ll hurt her if he does). No time is wasted in pleasantries as she sits him down at her kitchen table, and stiches the cut on his side. Her hands haven’t shaken since the first time she’s done this to him, but she can hardly hold the needle straight tonight.

“You okay?” He asks, flinching, as she manages to pull the needle through the torn flesh. “Your stitches are sloppy tonight.”

“Yeah, well, at least they’re getting done.” She says a bit poignantly, dismissively, because if he’s aware of her bad handiwork, is he also aware of the life still inside of her? Can he tell the changes in her chemistry, hear the heartbeat yet? If so, he hasn’t said anything, even if she hopes he eventually does; she has no idea how to break the news otherwise.

“Done.” She announces, applying gauze over the wound, and stepping away rapidly because she feels too close and it’s _suffocating._ “Try not to open those on your way out, okay?”

It really wasn’t supposed to come out so rude, but it does, and she feels like shit for it. Things weren’t supposed to be like this between them. Even if a relationship had never really taken off, she was still his _friend_ , and was supposed to be there for him on nights where he got the ever-living shit kicked out of him. How could she?

Matt doesn’t push, or reacts badly to it, though; he simply nods, puts his costume back on, and gets up with an almost inaudible groan. She’s trying to busy herself by cleaning up her station, but she can’t help but notice the way he lingers at the open window. It makes her uneasy.

“Claire…” He starts suddenly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle against the stillness of the night. She feels her heart speed up, and her stomach flip. “I… I need to ask you a question.”

“Shoot.” She says, trying not to let her voice waver. Her hands struggle to grip the zipper on her supply bag. The air is tense and heavy between them.

“I’m hearing a heartbeat,” He starts, his words careful and deliberate. “It’s kind of a shadow of yours, but… Much faster. And lighter. Claire… Are you… Pregnant?”

Claire finds that she can’t move her mouth to speak. She knew it was coming, but she still doesn’t know how to say it.

“Yes.” She says almost inaudibly, her mouth dry.

Matt turns around, back facing the window, and makes his way towards her. Claire wants to run away, but restrains herself when he’s a mere six inches away from her. She can’t see his eyes through his cowl, but she doesn’t need to; his reaction is conveyed in the way he bites his lip. She really hopes it isn’t to contain a smile.

“Well.” He says, his tone still cautious, after what seems like an eternity. “This is unexpected.”

Her heart pounds against her ribcage, and she _knows_ he can hear it, but she doesn’t want to beat around the bush and delay on hypotheticals. She needs to be _very_ clear even if her tongue feels as if it’s made of lead.

“I’m not having it.”

For the millionth time tonight, her words are less than courteous. They sound rough, bitter, coming out of her mouth, and she doesn’t know if she can ever make it up to him. The corners of Matt’s lips tug downwards ever-so-slightly, but his cowl doesn’t let him betray a reaction.

“You’re… Terminating the pregnancy?” His tone is _still_ measured, and it seems like he’s trying really hard to phrase his thoughts. It unnerves her.

“Yeah.” She sighs. “Look, Matt, this isn’t a confession. I’m not admitting a dirty secret, or asking for permission. I _can’t_ do this. “

Not right now, at least, she thinks. Not as long as you keep putting that costume on.

“I understand.”

The sincerity of his words surprise her, but there’s a hint of disappointment in them. She nods, aware that he doesn’t see the gesture, and steps away from him again.

“Thanks.” She says hollowly.

He still doesn’t leave. If it were any other night, a night where she didn’t have to talk about this, she wouldn’t want him to. Lord knows she _wishes_ he would stay with her all night if it meant preventing more near-fatal injuries or death. It doesn’t work like that, though: he will _never_ stay; so long as the city bleeds with corruption and crime, he’ll bleed for it in his own blood.

“Claire.” The sound of his voice jars her from her thoughts. “I’m not going to force you to do anything that inconveniences you. Please know that. I just…” He trails off, then sighs. “If it was a different time, a different place… Would this situation be playing out differently?”

She blinks, then swallows heavily. “I don’t think you’d give up your costume even if it were that way, Matt.”

He doesn’t say anything, but silence is the confirmation she needs. She shakes her head. “Maybe I _do_ kind of want this. Maybe I do like the thought of a little boy or girl with your eyes and my hair calling me ‘mommy’. But I can’t have a family with someone who prioritizes this city over everything else. I don’t think I could raise a child by myself, either, in the very likely case where you get yourself killed one of these nights.” She pauses, thinking, but her body is shaking. “I know you wouldn’t quit because this is a _part_ of you. And… And I want to understand, but I just don’t think I can. I’m sorry.”

Matt nods. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for.”

And his words really _are_ sincere this time, but Claire can’t help herself from thinking about having a little boy with his eyes and her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have the headcanon that Claire is Catholic, right, considering her Hispanic background. Now, that's making a generalization because not all Hispanics are Catholic, but a vast majority are, and I feel like Claire-- like a lot of us-- was raised in the faith, but ultimately abandoned it as she grew more distant from her family. That's actually a pretty common thing for many cradle Catholics, but I feel like growing up Hispanic Catholic, religion is something that definitely bonds you to your family. I know I can only speak from personal experience, but my family's Catholicism is not only fervent, but also really strict when it comes to things like abortion. I interpreted Claire's family to be the same, considering I know A LOT of Hispanic Catholics like this. So, um, yeah, please review and whatnot! I apologize for my crap headcanon!!!


End file.
